


The Pilot of My Roflcopter, or, How to Get Into Burton Guster's Pants in 10 Days

by trascendenza



Category: Psych
Genre: Character of Color, Emoticons, LOLcats - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-09
Updated: 2009-11-09
Packaged: 2017-10-11 10:21:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/111357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trascendenza/pseuds/trascendenza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>"But, Guuuuuus," Shawn whined. "I have this great idea I need to run by you, and we both know that you're so much more receptive after the first wave of habanero endorphins kick in."</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Pilot of My Roflcopter, or, How to Get Into Burton Guster's Pants in 10 Days

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [commentathon](http://trascendenza.livejournal.com/355369.html) prompts "lolcat" and "go on a date with me."

**Day 1.**

"Gus." Pause. "Gus." Pause. "Gus. Gus. Gus. Gus."

"Shawn, I'm working."

"You always say that and not once has it ever been true."

"Shawn."

"Okay, well, yes. It's always been true. But you know what they say – all work and no play makes Gus an axe-murdering lunatic who kills his family." Shawn put on a very sincere serious expression. "Think of little red rummy, Gus. Who's going to protect him?"

Gus glared. "You are, because I'm coming after you first."

Shawn shrugged. "Fair enough. So, lunch? They're having a three-for-the-price-of-one special on Henry's Habanero Hotdogs and I was thinking we could eat them until smoke comes out of our ears or we explode from the internal combustion, whichever comes first." He'd ticked off two fingers thus far, but then held up one more. "Oh, _or_ there is the third long shot yet tantalizing possibility that the peppers will be laced with super-power bestowing radiation that will turn us into the crime-fighting duo of the century." He paused a moment in thought. "Personally, I'm voting for the internal combustion, 'cause I'm having Buzz tape the whole thing and I'm ninety-nine percent positive the resulting footage will get us on Ripley's Believe It Or Not."

"As tempting as dissolving what little is left of my gastro-intestinal lining after last week's Chili Inhaling contest – a _chili respirator_, Shawn, I cannot believe I let you talk me into that – I really do have to finish this."

"But, Guuuuuus," Shawn whined. "I have this great idea I need to run by you, and we both know that you're so much more receptive after the first wave of habanero endorphins kick in."

"Well, gee, when you put it like that, of course I'll come along and put myself under the influence of what _should_ legally be considered by the state of California a drug so that you can manipulate me into going along with one of your stupid plans. That sounds like a great idea."

Shawn smiled. "Seriously, Gus, I'm telling you. You want to come along with me now, because if you don't…" He shrugged elaborately. "Let's just say I have a back-up plan that is one part evil, one part genius, and three parts awesome. Well, and one part pineapple, but that's a given because every great plan has a great snack standing behind it, and I think that we all know pineapple is the Jackie O of the fruit caucus."

"Not today, Shawn." Gus looked back down at his papers and starting writing again. When Shawn leaned to see what it said, he saw _Stop reading over my shoulder, Shawn, it's rude. Although I do agree about the Jackie O thing._

"Oh, all right," Shawn sighed, and left Gus' office.

Gus waited a moment and then leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes, interlacing his fingers behind his neck. He enjoyed the blissful silence for an entire minute.

"But just remember," Shawn said, poking his head back in and startling Gus to the point of nearly toppling out of his chair, "this lesson is going to hurt you more than it's going to hurt me. It _may_ actually hurt more than the internal combustion thing, so, you know, just take a minute to weigh your options because from what I've heard, the re-assembly's not as bad as you might think."

"Shawn," Gus said warningly.

Shawn sighed, but with one more smile and a laconic two-fingered salute, he was gone.

**Day 2.**

"Go on a date with me," Shawn said when he came into Gus' office the next day.

Gus kept staring at his computer. "No."

"Seriously? You're just going to throw a 'no' out like that, without even thinking about it?"

"I don't need to think about it, Shawn. I already know why you're doing this."

Shawn looked amused. "Do enlighten me, Obi Wan Keburton. Why am I doing this?"

"You're bored, and every time you get bored, you think up some little scheme to mess with me. You get some kind of perverse pleasure out of disrupting my equilibrium. Well, it's not going to work this time, Shawn." Gus smiled serenely. "I am as cool as a cucumber."

"Admittedly, I am a little surprised at the lack of freaking out and the cucumber thing is really working for you, but you're totally wrong."

"Whatever you say, man." Gus spread his hands meditatively. "I am still pond, an immovable mountain. Nothing can touch me."

"So nothing I do will convince you to say yes?"

"Nothing."

"Not even if I promised to put out on the first date?"

Gus' nose wrinkled. "Shawn, please."

"Right, well, this is the part where I remind you about that plan I had and generously give you one more chance to say yes." Shawn took one Gus' hand in his and patted it. "I even promise that I'll only grope you twice during dinner. Well, three times if we have anything with garlic in it – what can I say? It's my fiery Italian blood."

"First off, you're about as Italian as Pizza Hut." Gus slipped his hand out of Shawn's, pointing at him. "And second off, no. Not gonna happen, Shawn. I'm standing firm on this."

"So does this mean I should just tell the mariachi band I hired to just go straight to your apartment?"

**Day 3.**

Gus was wary when he came into the Psych office, prepared for any number of things to happen. (A singing telegram, Mr. T, a bucket of what he prayed to God wasn't actual pig's blood, his own likeness carved in butter, a kiddie pool full of jell-o and, most recently, a herd of geese were some of the more _pleasant_ things he'd been surprised to find on the other end of this door.) But nothing was out of the ordinary; Shawn was folding paper airplanes and no walls had been removed/added, so this day was already looking pretty good.

"Shawn," Gus said cautiously.

Shawn looked up at him and smiled, but said nothing. He pointed at the bright pink post-it taped on Gus' laptop. Gus went over and picked it up.

_Fengleberry Snufflepus:_  
Last chance to say yes! Otherwise I will be  
forced to butcher the English language in  
ways you can't even begin to imagine,  
'til you do.  
Love,  
Bananarama

Gus rolled his eyes. "As if you haven't been butchering the English language since we were kids. I'm pretty sure I can handle it, Shawn. The answer's still no."

Shawn smiled the slightly sad smile of someone who is about to go to cruel lengths to achieve his ends, but is also secretly looking forward to it a little bit.

"then here i am, in ur lengoo-edge," Shawn said, "messin it up."

Gus blinked. A lot. "Excuse me?"

"im in ur lengoo-edge," Shawn repeated patiently and slowly, "messin it up."

Gus shook his head like he could dislodge what he'd just heard. A few neurons sizzled, struggling valiantly. "I… Shawn, how the hell can I tell that you're speaking in lowercase? That's not even – that can't even –"

"awesum shawn is awesum." He explained, spreading his hands like it was self-evident.

"But you can't – it's not possible to _hear_ spelling –"

Shawn stood up, and walked over to Gus, placing a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. "i am hatin to sai this – k, is lie, i am not hatin it b/c is always fun to be rite – but u _has_ asked for it."

Gus, looking like his brain was about to start melting out of his ears, turned around and walked out.

**Day 4.**

"O HAI," Shawn said when Gus walked in, looking haggard and worn.

Gus ignored him.

"i has said O HAI," he said, lobbing an eraser at Gus. "and now is part where u says O HAI back and we makes witty banterz."

"I'm not doing this, Shawn," Gus said testily, opening his laptop with more force than necessary and looking at it like a drowning man looks at a life preserver.

"u is not doin wat?"

"Playing along. I refuse to encourage you."

"only needs say yesssss then." Shawn's face scrunched up with intense concentration for a moment, and then he produced this sound: ":)"

Gus looked up from his laptop, shell-shocked, eyes wide like a deer caught in the headlights. His voice was filled with equal parts wonder and horror. "Did you just vocalize an emoticon?"

":):):):):)," Shawn said, a little drunk with power.

"Dear sweet Jesus." Gus' head connected with the desk with a resounding thud. "What did I ever do to deserve this?"

**Day 5.**

Gus opened his fridge to find Shawn inside it, smiling up at him. He was munching happily on a sandwich. "om nom nom nom nom."

Then he held up a tiny flag (it was bright yellow and had a tiny caricature of Shawn with cat ears) and proclaimed in what was actually a rather good Neil Armstrong impression, "ALL UR FRIDGE R BELONG TO US."

Gus slammed the door like it had slandered his mother, and from inside came a muffled _"oh noes! i think i is now 2 dimenshunal."_

Gus smiled.

*

When Shawn got home later that night, he found that his fridge had been extensively chained and padlocked. There was a note on it that read:

_Actually, all your fridge are belong to me, sucker. Good luck finding the key. If you think you can win that easily, think again._

Shawn smiled a giant cat-like grin. "i see what u did there, gusgus." He fingered the padlock a bit erotically. "and i thinks i likes it."

**Day 6.**

Shawn was barely through the office door when an immense dictionary struck him in the chest, knocking him flat on his back. It weighed roughly nineteen pounds.

"do not want," he muttered weakly, pawing at it.

Gus leaned over him with a grin on his face.

"Unabridged, twentieth edition, two-hundred thousand eighteen six-hundred and thirty-two _glorious_ entries." He slung his coat over his shoulder as he stepped over Shawn on his way out. "Enjoy."

**Day 7.**

"it can be secksytiems yet?" Shawn asked, pointing at a restaurant they were driving by that was well-known for serving many appetizers featuring oysters (as well as an overall garlicky palette). "i appreciates ur fightin, really i does, but i is thinkin we both is knowin how this will end, and that is with sexytiems." He considered. "and waffles."

"No, Shawn," Gus said, keeping his eyes on the road. "I plan to go home and spend a quality evening with a book written by an author who knows how to conjugate verbs like a decent human being and appreciates the vital importance of the nominative case in declarative sentences."

Shawn put lifted his hands into curled fists under his chin, pout-frowning. "i no can come?"

"You no can – _no_, you can't come. That's final."

Shawn pulled a pineapple and a pizza out from behind his back. "but i has boughted u presents. i did not eated them."

Gus looked at the food, and then at Shawn's pathetic feline frowny face. He sighed. "Fine, but if I find you on my ceiling again, it's off, pizza or no pizza."

"\o/!" Shawn said.

Gus intentionally did not parse the transition from visual representation of a physical gesture to oral enunciation. He was running out of synapses to spare.

**Day 8.**

In the midst their epic battle of wills, they managed to solve a case. No one else seemed to notice anything out of the ordinary about Shawn.

Gus had long ago resigned himself to the fact that he was living in a world gone mad.

**Day 9.**

"Okay, look," Gus said, striding into the office purposefully in the way he did when he'd been thinking a lot. "The other day. You told me I was completely wrong. I thought you were just saying that to, y'know, mess with me the way you usually do." He sat down across from Shawn and looked him in the eye. "Did you really mean that?"

Shawn nodded slowly, his eyebrows conveying the sentiment _is about time u has figgered its out, u has been a little slow on uptake_.

"_ya_ rly."

Gus took a few Lamaze breaths but kept going. "Well, _what_ did you mean by that?"

"i waz askin u out for srs. no joke."

Neither of them commented on the fact that Shawn was speaking in a language he had learned from cats on the internet. Gus, at the moment, seemed confused by more than just the jumbled syntax. "But why, Shawn?"

"duuuuuh. u be knowin i luv u like fambly, gus. and..." He wiggled his fingers expressively, "a little more. bonus secksytiems luv, if u will." Then he grinned crookedly. "also, ur morph ball head: tttly irresistible."

Gus preened, trying to sound modest yet confident. "I have always prided myself on my very smooth and symmetrical head, it's true."

Shawn, sensing the thaw, wheeled his chair closer.

"i can has morph ball nao?" Shawn said, reaching tentatively and longingly for Gus' head.

Gus stood up, dodging Shawn's grip. "You no can has morph ball!" He said, sternly. All he needed was the rolled-up newspaper to complete the image.

Then – like a man who stops running because he's just realized that there's an arrow through his heart, and, well, _now_ what's the point in running? – he sat back back down, heavily, mouth hanging open. "Oh. my. God. Did those words just come out of my mouth? Did I really just hear those words come out of my mouth? A third person conjugation instead of an imperative case and no definite article, _really_?" He was hyperventilating slightly. "I feel like I'm having a panic attack, am I having a panic attack? I think I'm having a panic attack. No, I _know_ I'm having a panic attack right now because I'm pretty sure all my English teachers just rolled over in their graves, oh my _god_ –"

"but most of dem is still alives. u e-mails dem all the tiems." Shawn said, reaching out a hand to pet Gus soothingly.

Gus slapped his hand away. "Shawn, please! I appreciate a good Metroid reference as much as the next person, but I have had it up to here."

Shawn stood, fist curled dejectedly under his chin. "k fine. sorry i has bothereded u with mai stoopid admission of longtime luvin feelins." He looked at Gus reproachfully. "i go bai bai tiem nao."

With one last look behind him before he walked out the door, he said only this: ":(."

"I don't care how many emoticons you vocalize, Shawn, I'm not giving in," Gus said as Shawn walked away, but his heart wasn't in it.

**Day 10.**

Gus found a note on his nightstand that morning.

_morph ball,_  
plz to not be mad at me. u r other half of awesum duo of awesum, the pilot of my roflcopter.  
i be askin, if one hand clap in forest can anyone hears it? answer is no, and i think u know  
that i likes clappin in forests. that is all.  
kthxbai,  
post-it shawn

*

This time, it was Gus showed up at Shawn's door.

"Shawn, I'm sorry. I… you know that I..." He looked at Shawn for a long moment, and then stepped forward, putting his hand on Shawn's cheek. He kissed him softly.

Shawn started to say something, but Gus put a finger on his lips. "Yes," he said.

Shawn's smile grew and grew, like it was going to stage a revolution to take over his face and Gus kissed him again, harder, hand bunching into a fist on Shawn's shirt.

"Most excellent," Shawn exhaled a few minutes later, and Gus looked at him crazily, his eyes wild and hungry.

"Talk more," Gus said breathlessly, biting his lower lip.

"Why am I not surprised that use of proper English turns you on?" Shawn laughed, and as Gus unbuttoned his shirt, he starting reciting the Constitution from memory.

*

Two satisfying hours and seven amendments later, as Gus slept, Shawn placed his palm on the crown of Gus' head, his fingers outspread and gently grasping.

He smiled like a cat, eyes crescenting as he purred happily to himself _morph ball acquired_.


End file.
